Today we are honoring the beginning of Bob Gay’s diaconal ministry with Hickory Neck. We do not arrive at this day lightly. Bob and his family had to discern if coming out of retirement was what God was calling him to do. Bob had to confirm that call with church leaders, church members, and Diocesan staff. Bob had to prayerfully consider what a diaconal ministry at Hickory Neck would look like and how that ministry might be different than at other churches. And today, Bob and our community make commitments to not only support his call, but also recommit to our own senses of call. Though our celebration of Bob’s ministry may feel brief in relation to all we do today, the gravity of what we do in and through Bob is serious.

Although I am thrilled to honor Bob’s new ministry among us, sometimes these types of days can leave us with the impression that “calling,” is something that happens to those with collars – people are called to be priests, deacons, and bishops. Sometimes we are willing to expand the notion of calling to certain helping professionals – people are called to be nurses, social workers, fire fighters, and teachers. But we get a little tripped up imagining being called to be other things – a lawyer, an engineer, a stay-at-home parent, an investment banker, or a business owner. And when we are younger, we almost never hear people saying we are called to be a student, a babysitter, a friend, or a sibling. We might think we are good at some of those things, or we enjoy those jobs or roles, but we do not always say we are “called” to do them.

I met a retired priest once, and he said his greatest joy in retirement was in helping parishioners experience God on Mondays. In partnership with the clergy of his church, his “calling” in retirement was to set up what he called “Sunday-Monday Appointments” with church members. He would go visit members of Church on Mondays in their places of employment and talk about where they see God in their everyday life – how they make the connection between what they do on Sundays and what they do on Mondays. Those conversations are meant to help the parishioners name how they experience “calling” in their work place. For some parishioners, that conversation is quite easy. But for others, that conversation is much more difficult. Many of them have never had a priest visit them at work, and they have certainly never prayed aloud at the end of a meeting at work. When the retired priest asks them about their Sunday-Monday connection, sometimes he finds parishioners do not really have a connection. Those two days feel very separate in their minds.

Part of what is challenging in claiming that we are “called” to a role outside of church is we feel intimidated declaring what God would want us to do outside of church. We imagine something a bit like what happened to those around John the Baptist in our gospel lesson today. We do not like the idea of being called a “brood of vipers.” We do not like the idea of being told our ancestry does not matter – that being a descendant of Abraham does not hold sway with God. We do not like hearing about repentance, or axes lying at the root of trees who do not bear fruit. Perhaps if we had been one of those gathered around John the Baptist, we might have simply concluded that the whole baptism thing was not for us. Baptized living sounds hard as John describes baptism.

But before we get too far down the path of defeatism, something interesting happens in our gospel story. Instead of walking away with their heads hung low when John starts calling them broods of vipers, the crowd asks a question, “What then should we do?” After being called broods of vipers, you might expect the eccentric John to tell them to sell all their possessions, eat insects, and live in rags. Instead, John says something quite simple, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” Basically, John says, share your stuff when you have more than you need. That is all: share your stuff. We can tell John’s answer is pretty benign because the tax collectors jump in, “Teacher, what should we do?” They ask because although the others get off pretty easy, the tax collectors know they are in a bit of hot water, resembling broods of vipers more than they might like to admit. But John is mild again, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” In other words, John says, “Just do your job fairly.” The soldiers are emboldened now too, asking, “And we, what should we do?” John gives them an easy out too, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” That one is pretty basic too: appreciate what you have, and don’t be a bully.

What scholar David Lose appreciates “is how mundane, if not downright obvious, John’s admonition proves. I mean, this is not rocket-science; indeed, [John’s admonition] is the logic of the classroom and playground most of us first heard in kindergarten: share, be fair, don’t bully. But if somewhat obvious, [John’s admonition] is at least also within their reach. John does not tell the crowds to join him out in the wilderness, he does not ask the tax-collectors to abandon or betray Rome, and he does not urge soldiers to a life of pacifism. Instead, he points them to the very places in which they already live and work, love and laugh, struggle and strive, and suggests that these places are precisely where God calls them to be, where God is at work in them and through them for the sake of the world.”[i]

This month in our Sunday Forum series we are talking about our spiritual gifts. We are hearing diverse voices talk about what gifts each of us have and how we can use those gifts in our various callings. The idea is not simply to discover what gifts we have so that we can use them in the world; the idea is also to name how we are already using our gifts in the world, and to understand the use of those gifts out in the world and within this community as our calling. You know as well as I do that some of us are called to teach children, some to read scripture in worship, some to advise the church about financial decisions, some to plan parties, and others to find and stop leaks in water pipes. And some of us are not called to do any of those things. But each of us has spiritual gifts unique to ourselves, and each of us are invited to use those gifts in the church and the world. Those spiritual gifts can be as simple as the fidelity of a parent or spouse, the attentiveness of a friend, the hard work of an employee, the honesty of an employer, the steadfastness of a volunteer, the generosity of participating in an outreach ministry, or the compassion of visiting the sick or homebound.[ii]

What Bob’s new ministry and John’s invitation in our gospel lesson today do is not send us home thinking we must be ordained or be some crazy wilderness prophet to be faithful to God and live out our calling. What we do liturgically and hear scripturally today is remember that the connection from Sunday to Monday matters. The things we do in our everyday lives are opportunities to stop seeing work, home, school, and community as simply work, home, school, and community, but instead as our mission field – as the places where we live out the calling we discern here on Sundays. And if we are not certain what that calling is, the crowd surrounding John encourage us to ask the same question they ask, “And me, what should I do?” I promise the answer will not be overwhelming. The answer will be simple: show God’s loving-kindness in the workplace, at home, at school, and in the community; be Christ’s light in the grocery store, on the playground, with your loved one, and with the stranger; share the Holy Spirit’s love while driving, while emailing, while eating, and while playing on a team. Our job each Sunday is to keep asking, “And me, what should I do?” and then trust on Monday the answer will be unique to our gifts, within our reach, and fulfilling beyond measure. Amen.

Last night we had our annual Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church. In some ways, the evening was just like every other year: pancakes, sausage, and cake were in abundance, people donned their beads, and festive music was in the air. But this year there was one big difference. We shared the evening with some special guests. You see, we signed up to host a week of our community’s emergency winter shelter – but without checking the liturgical calendar. So, we had two options – invite our guests to join us, or find an alternate location for our festivities. The decision was not an easy one. We talked for months about the theology of hospitality and service. We talked about the realities of life for our guests, who are often tired and usually want to get some sleep as soon as possible. We talked about privacy, fellowship, and discomfort. In the end, we decided sharing the evening was the most authentic, hospitable way forward, not being entirely sure how the evening would go.

In my mind the evening had two potential outcomes. The first one I imagined was of a typical middle school dance – the girls on one side of the room and the boys on the other, neither being bold enough to get out there and dance. I worried that our guests would feel awkward or put on the spot to socialize. I worried that our parishioners would feel uncomfortable and would avoid contact with our guests. The other outcome I imagined was a profound evening, where guests and parishioners would mingle with ease, where deep conversations would be had, and where God would be palpably present. In that scenario, we would see God in the faces of each other, and we would be deeply transformed.

The reality of the evening was neither of my scenarios came to fruition. Luckily, no one behaved awkwardly or made anyone feel uncomfortable. But there was also not a sense of deep transformation last night. Instead, the evening was simple, authentic, and real. Some of the guests and parishioners kept to themselves or stuck with those like them. Some of the guests and parishioners shared in conversation over the feast. Children played with parishioners and guests alike, serving as a great equalizer. Jokes and laughter were shared, a meal was had in relaxed community, and the evening ended with the goodbyes of old friends. The only thing profound about the evening was that it was profoundly normal.

As I reflect back, I suppose that is the best outcome we could have had. Jesus sat with all sorts of people over meals, not necessarily to have contrived, poignant encounters, but to serve as an equalizer with people who were not treated equally. Jesus knew the power of food to move people toward honoring the dignity of every human being. That is what we did last night. We had fun, we feasted until we could feast no more, and we honored our baptismal covenant by seeking and serving Christ in every person, loving our neighbor as our self, and respecting the dignity of other human beings. Not bad for a Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper!

One of the things that has been fun about living in a new community is being able to operate under the radar for a little while. I had not started my job yet when my oldest child began her first week in her new school. That meant I was able to go to the bus stop in plain clothes – where my collar did not cue in the other parents as to what my occupation is. It was a wonderful experiment because I was able to quickly see how or whether people talk about their faith in this new community.

By the second day, one of the moms introduced herself to me. She was incredibly friendly and helpful, trying to ascertain how much we had begun to integrate ourselves into the neighborhood. Within five minutes, she mentioned how I might enjoy bringing the kids to vacation bible school at her church this summer. She followed up that invitation by asking if I had started looking for a church home. At that point in the conversation, the cat was out of the bag. Not only did I have a church home, I was that church’s new pastor. As I walked home that day I was impressed by her natural and quick ability to do the simple and powerful: invite me to church.

There is a duo that I have come to love called the Skit Guys. They do funny skits that poke fun at us church-going people while also exposing, challenging, and encouraging us in our weaknesses. Some of my favorite skits, like this one, challenge why people do not ever think to invite others to church. They make the invitation part seem so simple. At the new bus stop, I realized how right they are.

So, this week, I invite you to do the same. Maybe your child has been at the bus stop all year, but you never broached the “religion” topic with another parent. Maybe you had a casual chat with someone at the hair salon or barber shop, but you did not think to mention your church. Maybe you were at a bar or a restaurant and were talking politics and religion, but never asked if they have a good church home. This week, I invite you to go for it. Perhaps the person already has a church home and you will hear about some cool ministries they are doing. Perhaps the person was scorned by the church and you can be a pastoral ear, sharing the times when church has been both hard to be a part of and times when church has been a blessing for you. Or perhaps the person has been waiting to be asked. I’m sure you will have a great story to tell if that is the case! Good luck!

A few years ago, some friends of mine engaged in the elevator speech challenge. The idea was simple. If you were stuck in an elevator with someone for thirty seconds and were asked to tell them about your faith, what would you say? The challenge was to explain to someone your faith in Jesus Christ in thirty seconds or less. I remember when my friends started sharing their elevator speeches, I was totally intimidated. First, I knew that if someone actually asked me to do this in an elevator, I would probably stutter through some answer, mostly filled with “ums” and “you knows,” and not much of substance. But more importantly, even when I tried to sit down and give myself way more than thirty seconds to formulate my thirty-second speech, I could not do it. I could not figure out how to distill everything that had happened to me in my faith journey, why I still believe and am so devoted to church, and who I believe the three persons of the Godhead to be.

The last night in the upper room that we hear about in our gospel lesson today is a little like Jesus’ elevator speech. Although the disciples did not fully grasp the importance of that night, Jesus certainly did. If you remember, back on Maundy Thursday, we joined Jesus and the disciples on this night. Jesus tells the disciples many things. He teaches them about the importance of servitude as he washes their feet. He teaches them how to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. But when Judas leaves at the beginning of our reading today, Jesus knows he is out of time. The end is coming and he desperately wants to leave the disciples with a few words of wisdom. Knowing his time is up, Jesus does not tell anymore parables or give them any convoluted metaphors. He keeps his words simple and direct.[i] “Love one another,” he tells them. “Love one another as I have loved you.” That is all he gives them.

His words are simple, perfect, and beautiful. I am sure those words were in many of the elevator speeches I read. God is love. Our call is to love as Jesus loved us. That is how others will know us to be Christians – through our love. The problem is this: though “love one another” sounds simple, perfect, and beautiful, loving one another is really hard work. Think about that one family member who is so difficult – the sibling who always tries to start a fight, the family member who always has some story about why they need to borrow money from you, or that aunt who is just plain mean. Jesus says we must love them. Or think about that classmate who started a nasty rumor about you, the coworker who took credit for your idea, or that friend who shared your confidence with someone else. Jesus says we must love them too. Or think about that political candidate that you cannot stand, that religious leader who constantly says offensive things, or that homeless person you tried to help who was completely ungrateful. Jesus says we must love them too. Jesus words, “Love one another,” are simple, perfect, and beautiful. But Jesus’ words are also hard, frustrating, and sometimes seemingly impossible. Loving one another is at times the most wonderful, rewarding thing we do in this life, and at times is one of the most challenging, difficult things we do in this life. But we love because that is what Jesus taught us to do.

Today we will baptize a child into the family of God. Baptism is our sacred initiation rite. During any initiation rite, we normally summarize what is most important to us so that the newly initiated person knows what we expect from her. In this case, the parents and Godparents will be reminded of our ultimate priorities so that they can teach her in the years to come. Most of those promises and priorities come in the baptismal covenant. We ask five questions: Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers? Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord? Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ? Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being? The questions are big questions – the guiding principles of our faith. But most of the questions boil down to that night in the upper room: love one another.

As we think about baptizing Elaina today, and teaching her to love, some of us may feel overwhelmed. We know how hard loving is. Elaina will even teach her parents and godparents how difficult loving is: when she learns and uses the word “no!”, when she throws her first epic temper tantrum, or when she first utters those dreaded words, “I hate you!” But Elaina will also teach the parents and godparents how wonderful love is: when she first calls you by name, when you first see her helping someone or tenderly comforting a crying friend, or when she finally learns those wonderful words, “I love you!” Everyday her parents and godparents will have the chance to teach her about what her baptism means by showing her how to love. They may not have a patented elevator speech, but Elaina will understand what her Christians identity means when she sees what “love one another” really means.

But today is not just about Elaina, her parents, and her godparents. Today is for all of us. Today is a day when we too can take stock of how well we are living into our own identity as baptized children of God. Every day we can take a moment to remember where we have failed to show love and where we have excelled in showing love.[ii] The moments will be small and sometimes seemingly inconsequential. But all those tiny moments add up to a lifetime of loving one another. And today we will promise to, with God’s help, keep trying to be a people who love another. Loving one another may not be a fancy elevator speech. But loving one another might be much more powerful in the long run than any fancy words we can assemble – because Jesus’ commandment today is not so much about what we believe, but about how we live.[iii] Jesus did not tell us to love one another because he knew loving one another would be easy. But Jesus did tell us to love one another because he knows that we can. He has seen each one of us do that simple, perfect, and beautiful act. Today, he invites us to keep up the good work. Amen.